Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"You've done wonders with the ladies' appearance." The colonel strolled on with Agatha at his side. He seemed happy to change the subject. "Daisy's looking really pretty."

"Thinking of getting married?" teased Agatha.

"What me? By George, no! Once was enough."

"Wasn't it happy?"

"Wonder if those chaps have caught any fish?" The colonel waved his stick at men fishing at the end of the pier. So the subject of his marriage was closed.

As they turned back and walked towards the hotel, Agatha stumbled and he tucked her arm in his. "Better hang on to me," he said. "Don't want you twisting an ankle before this evening. You should wear flats."

"I always like a bit of a heel," said Agatha. She looked towards the hotel. There was a flash at one of the windows. Could be binoculars, thought Agatha. I wonder whose room that is.

When they went into the warmth of the hotel, to the Victorian hush of the hotel with its thick carpets, thick curtains and solid walls, Agatha felt all her old restlessness coming back. She went up to her room and unwound the scarf from her head. There was not enough hair covering the hitherto bald patches. She shook the bottle. Only a little left.

She could kill two birds with one stone. She could go along and have a look at this Janine and see what she was like and also see if she had any of her mother's hair lotion left. She didn't want to use up the last little bit in case it turned out that Janine didn't have any and that last bit must be kept for analyses.

She brushed her hair and decided there was no longer any reason to wear a scarf.

Agatha called in at the dining-room on her way out to tell the others she would be skipping lunch. The waistband of her skirt felt comfortably loose for the first time in months and she did not want to sabotage her figure with one of the hotel's massive lunches.

"Where are you going?" asked Mary.

"I'm going to see Francie Juddle's daughter."

They all stared at her. "Why?" asked Jennifer.

"It's my hair. Remember I had these bald patches? Francie gave me some hair tonic and it worked a treat. I'm going to see if she has any of her mother's stuff left."

Agatha turned away and said over her shoulder, "If she's such a witch, she may even be able to rouse the spirits of the dead to tell me who murdered her mother."

There was a sudden stillness behind her, but she went on her way. They probably all thought her visit was bad form.

FOUR

AGATHA felt quite excited as she made her way along the promenade to Partons Lane.

At the cottage, a surly-looking young man answered the door. "You got an appointment?" he demanded.

"No."

"Well, you'll need to come back. Two o'clock's the first free appointment."

"Put my name down," said Agatha. "Agatha Raisin."

"Right you are."

"You won't forget?"

"Naw."

So that's that for the moment, Agatha thought. She made her way to the pub where she had first met Jimmy. To her surprise and delight, he was sitting at a table with a half-finished glass of lager in front of him.

"Agatha!" He rose to his feet. "Sit down and I'll get you something. The usual?"

"Thanks, Jimmy."

Jimmy returned with her drink. "So how are things?" he asked.

"I've been jauntering around with the people from the hotel. We're going to the dance tonight. Have they found out when the murder was committed?"

"Can't ever be exact. She hadn't had any supper. Nothing in her stomach to indicate she'd eaten anything since lunch-time. The pathologist thinks it might have been between five and six o'clock, going by rigor mortis and all that sort of business."

"Oh, but that means it could have been done by one of them at the hotel. Surely the neighbours saw who went in and out."

"There's the problem. The cottages on either side and across the road are weekend cottages. And the only permanent resident four doors away is nearly blind."

"But someone carrying a cash box and emptying out the contents and throwing it over the sea-wall would surely be noticed."

"Not really. Have you been around Wyckhadden at six o'clock? It's the ideal time for a murder. All the shops and offices are closed and everyone indoors having their tea. Only the really posh still have dinner in the evening down here. The murderer could have transferred the money into coat pockets and then just have dropped the empty box over the wall. It was high tide and the sea would have been up."

"But the appointments book. Was anyone booked in for six?"

"She always took the last appointment at four-thirty. That was a Mrs. Derwent, who took her little boy along who's got trouble with asthma."

"What about the weapon? Surely that would have been dropped over the sea-wall with the box?"

"Maybe. But there's everything down there at low tide that could have been used--empty bottles, iron bars, bits of wood. The sea's rough and the pebbles would have scoured any evidence clean away."

"So are you looking for anyone?"